


Bellflower

by Ywain Penbrydd (penbrydd)



Category: Bleach
Genre: Humor, M/M, Minor Character Death, Rivalslash, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2008-10-19
Updated: 2008-10-18
Packaged: 2017-10-04 08:17:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/penbrydd/pseuds/Ywain%20Penbrydd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yumichika is jealous of the sheer volume of aesthetically pleasing material Ishida has generated in his short life. Stuck-up hilarity ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _ **Disclaimer: ** _ _Bleach is the property of Kubo Tite. I just borrow his characters and play with them._ _   
> _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _**Author's Note:** I forget what the hell I was reading, but suddenly it struck me that Yumichika and Ishida were a perfect complement to each other... I expect a chapter 2, but doubt it'll be much longer.  
> _
> 
> _**Warnings:** None yet, but some potential smut in the future.  
> _

* * *

There was something about that Ishida guy that just drove Yumichika to distraction. In fact, at that very moment, the very thought of Ishida had driven him to set a single feather at an angle that was something less than stunningly beautiful, and at that moment, that was the worst possible thing that could have happened. Yumichika, after all, was jealous.

For all that his aesthetics and combatant desires had carried him through the centuries, it thoroughly infuriated Yumichika to see a human boy of _maybe_ sixteen catching up with him -- and not only that, but that bastard Ishida could _sew his own damn clothes._ Yumichika was dependent on the erratic path of the world's fashion sense and his own ability to obtain enough money to commission the clothes he wore. It wasn't so bad, most of the time, since he tended toward the standard uniform, most days. But standing beside Ishida, in a fight, he could almost feel himself becoming plain. Even Ikkaku had noticed -- hell, _Renji_ had noticed -- he was getting bitchier and bitchier the more time he spent in proximity to that boy.

He snarled as attractively as possible and re-set the misaligned feather.

* * *

"Hey, Ishida," Ichigo called out to the slim figure primly preceding him out of the senkai gate, "What the hell did you do to Ayasegawa?"

Uryuu pushed up his glasses and smiled thinly, over his shoulder. "I didn't have to. Clearly he recognises my talents and sees me as a threat to the security of his own arrogance." _If he makes his own kimono, though, I have no idea what he's worried about... _Uryuu thought to himself. Ayasegawa's kimono collection was a sight to be envied and marvelled at, and Uryuu was especially fond of the one with the lotus blossoms and the silver-embroidered cranes. The work on the cranes was clearly hand-stitched, and he knew he wasn't that good, yet... but, one day...

His thoughts were interrupted as Ichigo started talking again. Uryuu sincerely wished he'd stop doing that. At all, really.

"Security of his arrogance? The hell's that even mean? I think you're making shit up so you don't have to say," Ichigo protested.

"No, what I'm saying is, by the time I'm my grandfather's age, he'll be jealous of me." Uryuu stopped suddenly, with a sharp laugh, and Ichigo nearly bumped into him. "Ha. I'd best up my skills faster, or I won't be beautiful enough for him to care, anymore," he joked, leaving Ichigo irritated and confused as they again progressed along the road.

"You? But you're not even beautiful to begin with! At least I could kind of _mistake_ Ayasegawa for a girl, in the right light!"

Uryuu stopped again, at the edge of the glow from a streetlight, and glanced back at Ichigo. "Your sense of aesthetics is severely limited, Kurosaki."

And in that moment, Ichigo saw, exactly what Ishida had meant, and promptly promised himself a full bottle of brain bleach, as soon as he got home. He saw it -- actually _saw_ the beauty in Ishida's face -- the soft light in the sharp, mocking eyes -- the pale, smooth skin -- and he was never going to be able to un-see it. Ichigo glanced back to see if the gate was still open. Maybe if he hurried back, Kyouraku-taichou would get him good and drunk. _Ishida_. Ichigo shook his head. _That's disgusting_.

"And your sense of tactics flat sucks," Ichigo replied, a split second too late. "Is it a competition? Do I get a point for being right?"

Uryuu sighed audibly and kept walking.

* * *

Time passed. A war broke out. Riots and arrancar slid by like water down the drain. Yumichika seemed less bitchy, if only because he could take it out on the unfortunate arrancar who crossed his path, instead of his friends. The world slid through his slender fingers, unblemished, until, again, he found himself beside that damnable Quincy.

They sat in a bar -- Ishida was there with Kurosaki, Abarai, and Ukitake-taichou, and they looked like they were waiting for Kyouraku-taichou to arrive. Ishida, Yumichika noted, vindictively, appeared somewhat uncomfortable in his drunken surroundings. Yumichika, of course, was there with Ikkaku and Tetsuzaemon, distractedly half-listening to them argue about who was buying the next round. He drained his cup and leaned back, glancing across the room to where the Quincy sat, staring back at him. A thin smirk slithered onto Ishida's face, as he cocked his head, invitingly, at Yumichika and stood up, walking a little too inconspicuously in the general direction of the restroom.

Yumichika's eyes nearly rolled out of his head in shock at the first thought that crossed his mind, but it clicked pretty quickly that Ishida just wanted whatever he had to say to go unnoticed by his companions -- and perhaps by Yumichika's as well. After a moment's debate, he followed.

"What do you want, Quincy?" Yumichika sniped, leaning toward the mirror, to make certain his feathers were still on straight.

"I want to know how long it took you," Ishida stated, as though it were the most obvious answer in the world.

Yumichika turned his head, staring, slightly dazed, at the slim, lithe Quincy. "How long what took?"

"The kimono, Ayasegawa-san." Ishida pushed up his glasses.

"You want to know how long it took me to put on my kimono?" Yumichika blinked, and his expression grew sharper. "What kind of asinine --"

"No, I want to know how long it took you to do the embroidery."

Yumichika froze. His first instinct was to lie, to say it had taken weeks -- to keep the upper hand. Instead, he looked Ishida straight in the eye. "I don't make my own clothes, Quincy. I pay people to do it for me," he said, looking down his nose at Ishida.

The Quincy just looked smug. "But seriously, how can you ensure the quality if you're not doing it, yourself? How can you be certain it's exactly what you want, when you never saw the little opportunities to make it better?"

Yumichika huffed, and stopped just short of a full-on pout. "And you can do better?"

"For myself I can. And I have better taste than any of my friends, clearly. For you? Maybe not," Ishida admitted, with a slow nod. "But I have the hands, and you have the face." He reached into his bag and drew out a heavy white kimono -- twelve yards of silk -- lightly patterned in a pale-blue bellflower and pentangle design, with the Quincy cross embroidered in dark blue on the back and shoulders. Blue edging chased the hems, and what appeared to be a slim vine of wisteria crept from the bottom hem, across the back, and up over one shoulder, diagonally transversing the field of bellflower. He held it up to Yumichika.

"I wanted to give you a reason to look at me like you do," Ishida offered, removing his cape, and slipping the kimono over the rest of his slim-fitting Quincy clothes, but what he meant was, '_I wanted to prove my superiority._'


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _**Author's Note:** Here's the second part -- longer and angstier than expected.  
> _
> 
> _**Warnings:** A funeral, Kurosaki's mouth.  
> _

* * *

A couple dozen years -- a couple dozen fashion shows down the line, Uryuu found himself standing beside a freshly filled grave, surrounded by shinigami and shinigami wanna-bes. He let the silver-trimmed cloth flowers in his hand drop to the earth, and bowed his head a moment in silent contemplation. His eyes suddenly levelled on Renji, though, when he heard the sound of splashing water against the headstone, and Yumichika began giggling from behind him.

"He was _my_ father, Renji! _Mine_. You can't just go..." Uryuu's hands flapped uselessly inside the draping sleeves of the formal kimono he wore. "Can't just _pee_ on the graves of other people's parents!" He looked slightly horrified, less at the idea of the grave being urinated on, perhaps, and more at the idea that it hadn't been _his own_ doing.

"You didn't have enough to drink in the car." Renji shrugged in a lazily antagonistic fashion, teasing Ishida. "Thought I'd take care of it for you. Can't blame you for being shortsighted, what with the death of your father, and all."

"Now, now," Isshin interrupted, "Don't be too hard on him. He really is the last Quincy, now." He and Orihime looked the saddest of all the people who had gathered. "Why didn't you ever marry Yuzu?"

"Because --" Uryuu felt the blood drain from his face as he stopped the appalling admission that had almost come out of his mouth. _Because I love the world._ He sighed and tucked his hands into his sleeves, looking to all eyes like some long-lost lord of winter -- pale, cold, and harried. "I have to be the last," he said, at last, stretching one hand out to Rukia. "You taught me that. You taught me to embrace the pride of the Quincy, and to do the best that I could do -- the best any of my ancestors could do, if I could make it that far -- because we weren't saving the world, we were destroying it, all along."

Stepping back, he leaned against Yumichika, tiredly. "And those pictures were awful, by the way," he teased Rukia. "But you made your point. I'm the last man standing, and I've shown up to my predecessor's funeral with a crowd of shinigami. I don't know if that's a success on my part, or just an insult to my father."

"Don't piss him off, Ishida," Ichigo teased him. "He's dead. He might come back as a hollow and eat your ass."

"Did you ever grow up, Kurosaki?" Uryuu rolled his eyes, almost tolerantly, as both father and son gave their answer in unison.

"No!"

He wondered why he couldn't have had a similar relationship with his own father. Sure, Isshin was annoying and childish, but so was Ichigo, in a lot of ways. Like father, like son. Uryuu muffled a snort as he realised he, too, was much like his father -- hardheaded, irrtable, and snide. It was just that he had been brave, where Ryuuken had let his fear of instability control him. Ichigo, too had moved forward, where his father had stepped back. It had taken two generations to finish the game, but, it could be said the war was finally over, because the last Quincy had agreed to die childless and in tandem with his shinigami allies in some thoroughly unlikely fight. That seemed to be the way of things, even after all this time. He didn't know when it would come, but he could feel his age in ways that didn't seem to affect most of the others. Orihime and Chad still aged with him, though, and for some reason, he found that made him sad.

He felt Yumichika take hold of his shoulders, leaning over the left. "Why don't you go on without us?" Uryuu heard the still-beautiful shinigami ask. "The reservations are made. We'll be right behind you."

Uryuu opened his mouth to protest, but Yumichika's hand tightened on his shoulder. "I'll be fine. Just a few last things to check. Go before the rain starts," he said, instead.

* * *

Yumichika could hear Ishida's slightly dazed voice, as the events of the last few days began to really catch up to the Quincy, but the shinigami was convinced the words didn't have meaning, anymore. It was just Ishida rationalising his feelings on the matter. Losing a father, Yumichika speculated, must be a lot like losing a captain. No matter how much you did or didn't like him, that person made you what you'd become. It was a heavy influence to suddenly find oneself without.

He was grudgingly grateful that Ikkaku had stayed behind in Sereitei, with Ukitake-taichou. They had volunteered to keep Kurotsuchi-taichou occupied and away from Ryuuken's deathbed and funeral. The last thing any man needed was the Twelfth Captain hovering after a loss like this.

Yumichika slowly slid his hands down from Ishida's shoulders, wrapping his arms around the man before him, who still stood staring down at the fresh-turned earth as thought the grave might tell him a secret. "He'll be in Soul Society, waiting for you. Knowing that asshole, he'll be picking fights with every shinigami who sets foot in Rukongai. And when you get there, he'll be picking fights with you, too." Yumichika sighed dramatically. "The next century or two is going to be appalling, thank you very much. I should just make Isshin go back to pick up the pieces."

Ishida actually laughed at the idea of Ichigo's father intentionally returning to Soul Society, just to keep his dad out of trouble. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more it seemed like Isshin would get Ryuuken _into_ trouble, but at least it would be the amusing kind, instead of the bitter kind. He turned his head to say something to Yumichika, but the thought evaporated as his nose smacked into Yumichika's, and his lips brushed against the shinigami's cheek.

"You're standing too close!" Ishida protested, and Yumichika laughed.

"What, are you afraid I'm going to ruin my outfit or yours? You made them both -- I'm sure they'll hold up."

"That's not the point!" Ishida insisted, stepping out of Yumichika's grip and turning around to accuse him. "You can't stand so close to someone, Yumichika. It gives the wrong impression."

"Or the right one," Yumichika corrected, holding out his hand in truce.

Ishida froze, mid-motion, hand still midway into an accusing jab, mouth open at the start of a word that would never be said. He stood perfectly still for a long moment. "What are you saying?" He looked slightly horrified. "Don't say stupid things."

Yumichika pulled his hand back, tucking both hands into his sleeves. "I didn't say anything in the least bit stupid, Ishida-san. You're the one making scary faces about a simple observation." He paused as Ishida reeled, looking as though he'd been slapped. They'd been something close to friends for long enough that the sudden formality was like a door slamming between them. Ishida looked hurt, and Yumichika looked apologetic, but they were both too prideful to reach looked away as the rain began to fall.

"Cherry blossoms fall under flesh-warm clouded rain. Icy rivers thaw."

It was, Ishida knew, an apology. Yumichika was like that -- never an admission of fault where a quick haiku would suffice. In fact, if he was reading this one right, Yumichika was blaming a broken heart for his poor behaviour. It figured -- Ikkaku hadn't come along.

"He'll be waiting for you when you get home. None of this is important, Ayasegawa-kun. Go home. You should be with the one you love at a time like this." Ishida laughed bitterly, as he realised that the funeral meant nothing to anyone but Kurosaki Isshin and himself. They had all come to see him through it, and here he was talking as though Yumichika had lost someone. As he opened his mouth to apologise for misspeaking, Yumichika cut him off.

"You're right. I should be." Yumichika stared up at he water falling from the sky. "That's why I'm here, you fool."


End file.
